One of my very first posts was about having a business meeting in an airport cafe.
Well, true confessions: sometimes I go there just for fun.
Sometimes, I go there just for the thrill of eating badly re-heated, overpriced food.
Sometimes, the pull of the M40 motorway roaring in the East is just too much for me to resist on a rainy Wednesday evening.
What can I say? I’m hooked on Heathrow.
Indeed, for those of you who haven’t cottoned on yet, last night the Philosopher and I took a trip to the airport (about an hour away) to meet a friend for dinner. All joking aside, the drive to Heathrow from Oxford can be stunningly beautiful at times, through the rolling English countryside. We watched a violent rainstorm move in over the hills before huge pellets of rain finally reached us. I love it when you can see rain falling in the distance. It looks as if the clouds are bleeding.
Food excepted, we had a great time with an old friend (he is young, it should be said, but the friendship is not) at the not-so-posh Windsor Restaurant in Terminal 4. Bangers were eaten, mash played with on the plate, and a twenty-four hour news channel reported the same five stories continuously for three hours while we caught on up life’s big questions.
We left buzzing.
You should give it a try! Eating at your local airport really is the bee’s knees nowadays. Everyone’s doing it.